


Never Fearful

by Flantastic



Category: James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Future, BAMF James Bond, BAMF Q, Humour, M/M, Magic-Users, Mild Gore, Smut, Violence, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-07 05:19:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1886553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flantastic/pseuds/Flantastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a post-apocalyptic world where technology is a thing of the past and magic runs riot; James Bond, a warrior cleric of the Palace of Vauxhall, is the ultimate fighter. </p><p>Will his bone-deep hatred of magic prevent him from protecting House Emisyx’s last, best hope for peace?  And what is the deal with the kid with the goggles anyway?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Fearful

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Salios](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salios/gifts).



> Written for Salios as part of the OOQ Summer Exchange. The prompts were...
> 
> "minimum prompt: bamfQ
> 
>  
> 
> maximum prompt: Fairly open. Prefer fantasy or sci fi setting. Ie.  
> Bond is a knight in the double-oh section. Their new quartermaster is young and stuffy looking and a mage to boot. Bond and the other double-ohs seem to think that Q's chosen skill (skills being inter changeable. Think dress spheres from final fantasy) means he's weak.  
> Imagine his surprise when they are attacked on mission and Q ends up retaliating with enough power and force to leave bond speechless. (Uses magic or changes class to something resembling a dark knight. Giant sword)."
> 
> I hope I've managed to do the prompts justice - I'm more of a D&D girl than Final Fantasy so I just ran with it!

_“Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful.”_

_William Shakespeare_  

 

 

 

First came the age of enlightenment and entitlement.  Mobile phones and the internet.  A cure for all diseases.  World peace, coming at a huge price.  Weapons becoming more effective, technology blending with chemistry in more and more horrifying ways, each nation boasting the ultimate deterrent.  Each nation boasting the larger claim to the right to marshal world peace through threat.

 

Then came the Cataclysm.   A small border scuffle became a war, which became a genocide, which became… well.

Scientists opened Pandora’s Box and the world paid the price.

From the ruins of what was left rose magic.

 

 

James Bond, Ordnance Officer Seven, was born centuries after the Cataclysm.  He grew up in a small hamlet in the wilds of Scotland until his parents were slaughtered when he was just ten years old.  He was the only living soul to survive the attack which was orchestrated by the mage known simply as Le Chiffre.  The magic-handler had used the dead he reanimated to swarm through the town in the black of night, punishing the villagers for refusing to bow to him by tearing them limb-from-limb.  Only luck allowed Bond to survive.  That, and his mother sacrificing herself to give him time to bolt down into an underground tunnel hidden in the cellar of their home.  By the time he had emerged from the other end of the tunnel, half a mile away, the village was destroyed and the villagers had been slaughtered.  He had lived off his wits, evading danger for several years afterwards using his vicious nature and athletic abilities to head south until he was picked up as a teenager by a roaming Emisyx battle clan led by the legendary, fearsome Warrior Queen M herself.

She took a liking to him, this scrappy, vicious boy and personally oversaw his induction into the church.  She watched as he was honed by a brutal regime of training and prayer into a devout killer. Six years later, one month shy of his twentieth birthday, he killed Le Chiffre in battle.

He’d lived at the Palace of Vauxhall ever since.  Devoting to his life the House Emisyx and the woman who’d helped to orchestrate his revenge.  To training and maintaining his reputation of being the greatest living double O.  It was a reputation he protected with little pride or avarice. He simply lived to serve, to continue the battle against the scourge of the Revenants and the mages who conjured them.  He was a warrior cleric who’d sworn himself to worshipping the light and the law.  Devoted to the cause; even the death of M hadn’t swayed his obedience to the house that had saved him.  While other Double Os had retreated to the chapels to pray and mourn her loss, he’d simply lain his sword at the feet of her successor.

 

 

It was Mallory’s handmaiden Eve who searched him out in the training hall as he ran through his morning exercises with his usual brutal precision.  Other Ordnance Officers kept their distance.  Bond was not known for his light touch as he swung his battlesword, even while training, and he was making matchsticks of the training targets.  Eve was never one to hold back however and she slipped into his sightline graciously, smiling as he avoided decapitating her by mere inches.

“One of these days I’m going to have your damn head off woman!” he snapped as the sword’s tip hit the stone floor with a clang.

“Then you’d better retire on the day they bury me old man.  I’d hate to think of your skills failing you in the field.”

He grunted at her ribbing and grabbed a cloth, not missing the way her eyes traced the contours of his body as he wiped the sweat from it.

“Did you want something?  Other than to test my skill and ogle my flesh.  Perhaps you’d like me to bed you.  Mallory not satisfying you?  Shall I meet you after I bathe or do you prefer the stench of a real man?”

Eve reached out and traced a scar along Bond’s collar bone with one perfectly manicured fingernail.

“Mmmm.  Tempting.  Sadly, we have no time.  My Lord requires you immediately Bond.  He has a ranging mission for you.  He would see you as soon as you are dressed.”

Bond nodded.  Putting aside the training sword he went straight to his chambers.  He kissed the cross which hung around his neck on a fine cord before donning his plain blue, red and white robes.  He then fixed his armour plates to himself over them.  He muttered his devotions as he dressed.  Other warriors from lesser clans used simple spells to attach their armour but the clerics of Emisyx had no use for magic of any kind.  It was the use of magic which led to the breakdown of the old civilisation.  The resultant rise in barbarism was what ultimately led to the death of his parents.  That, and the old Queen M had been resolute - all manner of magic was banned from the halls of Emisyx.  In the place of spells he meticulously strapped on each piece of his armour using leather.  Once fully kitted, Bond slid his enormous sword, which was almost as tall as he was, into the scabbard on his back.  Other clans used segmented weapons which packed small and were extended by use of spells but again, Emisyx chose the mundane option.  It meant that their clerics had to be stronger, faster and more brutal than others and this suited Bond perfectly.  He was all three.  He quickly made his way to Mallory’s audience chamber.

He entered without knocking and took up his position in the audience circle, stooping to one knee and placing one gauntlet-covered hand palm-down on the floor.  He bowed his head and gave the required greeting.

“I live to serve, my lord.”

“Rise, OO7.”

He stood and relaxed into an easy stance, his chin raised and his hands linked loosely behind his back.  Mallory lent forward to brush his hand across Eve’s shoulder who knelt at his feet.

“Fetch Q.”

Bond smiled to himself as she passed him.  He lived a brutally simple life that did not lend itself to friendships but he had to admit that he liked her.  To the casual observer one might have assumed she was a kept woman, some kind of concubine.  In point of fact she was one of Emisyx’s most lethal assassins, one of the team assigned the personal protection of Mallory.  Bond knew that under her simple, green silken robes was hidden an impressive array of poison-tipped blades.  Bond himself would hesitate to cross her.  Once she had left the room, Mallory spoke.

“We have finally located Silva.  He is in the South.”

The only outward sign of emotion from Bond was a tightening of his jaw but inside his heart raced.  Silva.  The mage dog who had raised the Revenants – the undead – that had attacked and slaughtered Queen M.  He was the last true threat to peace in the south.

“Am I to hunt him?”

“Not exactly.”

Bond started.

“Then why, my lord…”

The door behind Bond opened again and he quietened as Mallory raised his hand. Eve retook her position at Mallory’s feet as another person joined Bond in the circle.  He snuck a look as the man – or rather, boy – knelt beside him.  His scrawny body was covered in a loose white robe which was edged with fine gold stitching and which draped down onto the floor around him.  The neckline was wide, showing off a long, slim neck and shoulders.  His hair was a mass of wild dark curls.  His eyes were covered in goggles with dark, reflective lenses.  Bond pondered them; they were most likely needed due to damage done by prolonged exposure to some kind of residual toxin out in the Deadlands.  It was not uncommon.

“I live to serve, my lord.”

“Rise, Q.”

As he stood, Bond noticed for the first time that he was barefoot.  There was only one reason why, in this tainted land, the boy would walk in a public place with no footwear.  He snarled, stepping away from the newcomer.

“At ease, OO7.”

“A mage.” He spat, ignoring Mallory’s cautionary tone and reaching for the dagger at his hip.  “You brought a fucking mage into your chambers.  Into the sacred halls of Vauxhall!  What is this lunacy?”

Mallory stood and approached them.  Bond flourished his weapon at the boy who was now looking at him in a slightly amused way.

“I have served the house of Emisyx all my adult years, battling to eradicate the scourge of the magic users, fighting for the return of the light and yet you invite this… this _whelp_ into your inner sanctum…”

“That is ENOUGH!” Mallory’s voice silenced Bond.  “YOU WILL _KNEEL_!”

Bond immediately followed the barked order, shaking with fury, his knife still clutched in his fist.  Mallory continued in a low, firm voice.

“This is Qilin, more commonly known as Q.  He came to us from the Deadlands.  He will be hunting Silva for us and you will be assisting him.”

“But why?” Bond choked out.

“Because the only way to kill a mage of Silva’s power is by magic.”

“No.” Bond spat. “Why trust him?”

“Because I owe Emisyx my life.” Q’s words were quiet and precise.  He looked down at Bond.  His eyes were obscured by the dark lenses in his goggles but a small smile twitched at his lips.

“All our other attacks on Silva have failed, he’s simply too powerful.” Mallory explained, “Q here is our last, best hope.”

“You must be joking.” Bond muttered.

“Why, because I’m not wearing battle armour?” Q retorted. 

“Because you still have _spots_.”

“My complexion is hardly relevant.”

“Your embrace of magic is.”

“Physical strength is no guarantee of efficiency.”

“Conjuring is no guarantee of innovation.”

“I’ll hazard I can do more damage with a flick of one finger than you can do in a year on the battlefield.”

“So why do you need me?”

“Someone has to keep the Revenants from me while I summon enough power to strike.”

Bond huffed and sheathed the knife he still gripped.  Still not wholly convinced but aware that Mallory was watching him closely, he stood up and held out his hand.

“Q.”

Q gripped his forearm and Bond was surprised by his strength.

“OO7.”

 

Five days later saw Bond and Q nearing the broken down remains of a curling white bridge.  They stopped for a moment, the soon to be waning sun (it never truly set anymore) was still beating down and bleaching everything around them.  The sea sparkled, ochre and deadly beside them.  Bond felt the sweat trickle down his neck inside his armour and he couldn’t help the feeling of envy he got at seeing Q in his light robes.  He had been surprised and a little concerned to see that Q remained barefoot when they set out.  His only concession to being outside was the long cream-coloured cloak that he had donned and the loose hood that he drew up over his head. 

Surprisingly, despite Bond worrying about ending up carrying the boy after he’d cut himself or turned an ankle, he moved with a grace that Bond hadn’t seen before.  Each step was taken unerringly, avoiding all sharp hazards even when walking through ruins.  At their first camp Q had silently allowed Bond to roughly inspect his feet – there were no marks.  Seeing Q’s mocking smile, he’d demanded to know why he endangered himself so recklessly.  A simple cut in the Deadlands could mean poisoned blood and death.  Q had simply picked up a pinch of soil and caught Bond’s hand.  Turning it over, he’d sprinkled it into his palm.

“Earth,” His soft voice pitched as if whispering to a lover, “she is damaged but she is vital to life.”  He brushed his hand over the patchy grass which struggled to grow in their campsite.  “She sustains life and life is power.  While I am in contact with her, she shares her power with me.  Do you see?”

Bond didn’t see but he wasn’t about to admit that to some snotty kid.  He’d merely thrust a parcel of dried meat and a bladder of water at Q to sustain him and taken watch.  Just because Mallory believed in whatever crap the boy had fed him, it didn’t mean he had to trust him or his magic.  Q had tried to converse with Bond during the first two days but after getting very little response, Q had eventually learned to walk in silence.

It had been a strange walk.  Bond was used to moving covertly, using the dusk of the southern nights to move in shadows.  Mallory’s instructions had been clear however.  Walk slowly.  Take the remains of the great road.  Engage only with those enemy that attack.  Several times Bond had been aware of being watched and he wondered if their arrival at Silva’s camp was to be heralded.

Q climbed up onto a slab of concrete and looked out over the sea.

“Before the Cataclysm, people used to swim in the water on warm days like this.”  Bond, who had been scanning the area for possible enemies, looked at Q in surprise.  It was the first time he’d heard the boy speak in two days.

“Were they insane?”  Q smiled, his bright white teeth a shining contrast to the dark scrubby beard that had begun to grow during their journey.

“Hardly.  The water was clean.  Creatures lived in it.  Men would travel across it in boats.”

Bond stepped up onto the slab beside Q, suddenly curious.

“Boats?”

“They were vessels that floated on the water.  Men could go for weeks on them, travelling to other lands.”

“To other lands?  Why?  To fight them?”

Q shook his head and turned to look at him.

“A warrior through and through aren’t you?  People did do things for fun you know.”

Bond bristled. 

“I have fun…”

“Oh really?  What’s that?  Trying out a new training exercise?  Learning a new devotion?  When was the last time you had pure unadulterated fun Bond?  When did you last just let go of yourself?”

Bond muttered.

“You did what?”

“I had fun the last time Master Tanner gave me a new sword…”

Q threw his head back and laughed loudly, the sound clear and ringing.  He slapped Bond’s arm companionably and hopped down lightly off the slab.  Bond watched him, incredulous.  They were virtually at the beast’s door.  Where had this laughter come from?  He followed him down.

“Why do you laugh so?  Do you not realise where we are?  Don’t you realise we could be worm food before the sun sets on us again?”

Q stopped and turned to face Bond, his expression solemn once more.

“Of course I do,” he said, “but was I not entitled to one last moment of happiness, no matter how small?” He placed his hand on Bond’s breastplate, over his heart.  “I had hoped to make you smile also but that was not to be was it?  Follow me, I know the woods in yonder distance and have camped there before.”  He turned and walked away.  Bond watched him go dazedly for several seconds before he followed.  Although Q’s hand had lain on plate metal he fancied he could still feel it’s warmth on his skin.

True to his word, Q led Bond to a secluded cave that cut into the hill.  Trees surrounded it, camouflaging the entrance.  Remnants of previous camps littered the floor which mainly comprised of dark, damp earth.

“You’ve stayed here before.”  Bond stated.  Q nodded

“I used this cave as a base when I spied on Silva for Mallory.”

“You spied for Mallory?”

He went to the back of the crevice, leaning into the shadows.  Pulling out a couple of blankets, he handed them to Bond.

“There.  Have them.  It gets cold in here at night.”

Bond took them and shook one out.  He sat on it with his back to the wall of the cave. He repeated his question.  Q sighed and then muttered an incantation. Immediately the light from the outside grew dimmer. 

“That should stop any of Silva’s men noticing us.”  He commented as he sat cross-legged on the floor facing Bond.  He took a deep breath.

“I began to show signs of magic when I was three years old as is usual in one gifted such as I.  My mother noticed me inciting small flowers to bloom early and she placed my education in the hands of one of the villager elders, an old man named Boothroyd.  My village’s council had realised the danger of people like Le Chiffre and Silva years before but saw folly in dismissing all magic as evil.  They thought that if they could raise children to be mages but teach them to love all forms of life instead of power then they could be a potent force for good.

“I was the first truly talented mage born to our village for three generations and Boothroyd tutored me well.  He became like a father to me when my own died when I was six years old and he became my whole family when my mother died two years after that.  I was a studious child and I learned quickly but when Silva’s Revenants came I was still too young to be of any use.  I watched my beloved Boothroyd die before being attacked myself and knocked unconscious.   I woke up a week later under the care of healers in M’s own bed.”

“M’s?”  Bond was stunned.  He could hardly believe it.

“It turned out Boothroyd had been in communication with her for years, giving her updates, describing me to her.  It was sheer dumb luck that they found me and that I hadn’t been killed of course but once she had me and realised who I was she kept me hidden.  Boothroyd was a remarkable man and his enthusiasm for our village’s hopes for a good mage intrigued her.  She took me in, kept me secret and allowed me access to the libraries of Vauxhall to continue my studies.  When she died, the secret of my true identity was only passed on to one man. Mallory.”

“She did love her orphans…” Bond mused.  “So what now?”

“Now I do what I have been intending to do for the past fifteen years.  I will give myself over to Silva and to my fate.”  He stood up and stretched out his back.  “I need to prepare myself.  There’s a very real chance that we will meet with Silva on the morrow.”

Bond watched as Q removed his outer cloak and carefully folded it before placing it on a clean rock.  He then untied the gold belt which cinched in his white robe.  Placing this with his cloak, he drew his robe up over his head.  Bond quickly looked away but not before seeing Q’s lithe body, pale and wiry, his modesty protected by only a wisp of a loincloth.  He looked back when he felt a tug on his sleeve.

“Bond?”

He turned and his breath stuttered.  Q had removed his goggles in the half-light of the cave and he now looked upon him with piercing green eyes.  He was stunned when Q leaned in and softly kissed him on the mouth.  Without thinking he raised his hand and ran his fingertips over his cheek, sliding them up into Q’s hair and tugging on it, deepening the kiss.  He let out a small moan as Q swung his leg over Bond’s and settled into his lap.  Bond’s hands slipped down to cup Q’s buttocks as he rocked his hips, brushing their groins together.

Despite Bond’s religious vows not including celibacy, it had been years since he’d felt the intimate touch of another.  His head swam with the intoxication of Q’s kisses and the speed at which he felt his prick thicken.  He squeezed the twin globes of Q’s arse and tore his mouth away from the young man’s soft lips to lick the alabaster column of his throat.  His fingers slipped in under the thin cloth that protected Q’s modesty.  He wondered if he should go further.  From what Q said, he would soon be sacrificing himself to Silva in some arcane magical manner.  His gut twisted at the thought of harm coming to so much smooth, unscarred flesh even as his lust leapt like a springing beast.  Might Q need to stay un-breached?  Virginal?  Surely the boy wouldn’t have come on to him if…  His train of thought derailed when Q shifted his hips to one side and one of Bond’s fingers inadvertently slid over Q’s furled entrance.  They both moaned.  Q tugged on a cord at his hip and his underclothes, such as they were, fell away.  Bond pulled back and looked down at the naked body before him, juxtaposed deliciously against Bond’s full battle-dress.  Q’s pale torso stretched down to a riot of black curls from which stood his rampant, pink-headed cock.  Sweat glistened on his thin, heaving chest and Bond yearned to taste it.  He wanted to taste all of him.  Devour him in an orgy of sight and scent and touch.

“You’re gorgeous…” He murmured, drawing Q to him and delighting in the young man’s shiver as he was pressed up against Bond’s cool breastplate.  He mouthed the words like kisses onto Q’s damp skin, his hands returning to part his arse cheeks and tease at the prize between them.  “Why are you here Q?  Why do you put yourself in such danger you beautiful creature?  You should be far away.  Kept safe.  Loved.”

Q suddenly pulled back, his hands pushed firmly up against Bond’s shoulders.  He frowned.

“Kept safe?  Who by?  You?” Bond suddenly found his lap empty as Q stood up.  “I am not a child Bond, some winsome catamite to be coddled and adored.  I am here to finish the bastard who destroyed my village and slaughtered my adopted father and you would do well to remember that.”

Bond went to stand up but Q raised a stern finger, all signs of arousal gone.

“I only meant…”

“I don’t care what you meant.  You insult me.  You cannot be of any use to me now and I must prepare for tomorrow.” He turned and stalked over to a bare patch of ground which showed previous signs of disturbance.  “I would ask you not to touch me or interfere with me again this night.  No matter what you see, no matter what you might think, I am to be left alone.  Do you understand?  To touch me would be dangerous.” He glared at Bond, “For you, I mean.”

Bond nodded.  He wondered if he looked as confused as he felt.

“Of course.”

Unmindful of Bond’s unhappy gaze Q sank to the earthy ground.  With a sigh he laid down on his back with his knees bent and began to bury his hands and feet in the loose soil.  Once they were covered he closed his eyes and just… stopped.  Bond watched fascinated as Q’s breathing slowed to an imperceptible level, his skin becoming waxy and even paler.  He wondered if he should place one of the blankets over him but was mindful of Q’s warning and didn’t want to risk interfering with whatever purpose this strange position had.  He wrapped the blankets around himself instead and sat down with his back to the wall again where he could watch both Q and the entrance.  Wondering what the hell had just happened he closed his eyes but sleep was a long time coming.

 

 

Bond awoke in a second the following morning to the sound of Q coughing.  He sat, hunched over with his head between his knees, a terrible wet hacking sound wracking through him.  Bond was beside him in a heartbeat with water for him, rubbing his back and wrapping his freezing body in the blankets.  Q shrugged both Bond and the blankets off and grabbed the water bladder.  Taking a deep draught he shivered as he swallowed.

“By the light, that was horrible.”

“It’s been in that skin for almost a week, it’s bound to taste bad.”

“Not the water you berk, the earth.  She’s so polluted here.  It took me forever to get what I needed.”

He took another swig and sloshed it around his mouth before spitting it out.

“A gift for you mother.” He muttered.  Still eschewing Bond’s help, he stood and began to dress.  His movements were jerky and uncoordinated.  Feeling a little useless, Bond folded the blankets and returned them to the spot Q had taken them from.  He turned back just as Q was replacing his goggles.  He wanted to apologise for the previous night but he still wasn’t entirely sure what he’d done wrong.  Instead he asked the first thing that popped into his head;

“Why do you wear them?”

Q walked to the mouth of the cave, not looking back.

“You’ll see.”

 

 

The thing was this.

They knew they were walking into a trap even before it was sprung.

 

 

They had walked all the way from Vauxhall along the remains of the main road to what was once Devon.  There was no way Silva’s spies could have missed them.  More times than he could count Bond had felt his hackles rise, the feeling of being watched crawling over his skin but his orders had been clear.  Walk to the co-ordinates given and don’t rise to any indirect threat along the way.  As he followed Q over the brow of the hill and caught sight of the warriors waiting for them he wondered again to what purpose this slight, effete man was to be sacrificed.  Bond distrusted the power that even a willing tribute could hope to hold over the power-crazed Silva.

He stood tall as they were surrounded.  They were hopelessly outnumbered even without the reanimated dead.  His stomach roiled at the sight of the Revenants that snapped at them, broken fingers grasping uselessly for them.  They were held back by poles that were attached to the collars around their necks.  Each Revenant was held in check by a soldier who held the other ends of the poles.  The stench was unbearable – some of the corpses were fresher than others but all rotted to a greater or lesser degree.  Bond’s bile rose and he clenched his teeth against it as he tried to remember that these poor sods were all once human – men and women like the mocking crowd that surrounded them.  He whispered a prayer for their souls as his weapons were removed.  A shove sent him forward, stumbling to keep up with Q who walked serenely ahead. 

They were led though the ruins of buildings down a decrepit flight of stone steps.  Another alley followed which suddenly opened out onto a plaza which served as the junction to four roads.  Silva’s throne sat on the steps of one of the buildings between double stone columns.  The building was in as good a shape as any Bond had seen in his life, obviously restored by skilled craftsmen.  There were fully grown healthy trees growing in a line, each in its own perfectly tended flower bed, and between them they formed a shady avenue.   Bond guessed this must be where Silva resided.  The man himself sat in an apparently casual manner, his pale blond hair glinting in the morning light.  He straightened up when he saw his captives.

“Welcome.  Welcome!  There you are!  My visitors!  How perfectly delicious!”  He stood up and walked towards Q.  “Look at you.  So lovely.”  Q stood stock still as Silva ran his hand through his hair.  “So young.  So tender.”  He looked to Bond.  “Did you look after him on your way here?  Did you make sure he ate?  Hmm?  Did he drink well?  Did you guard him and watch him sleep?  It must have been so hard.  Hmm?  To gaze upon him and resist the urge to take him?  To make the child feel the touch of a real man… but of course, you are a cleric.  A man of the light and not to be easily swayed by such base pleasures.”  Silva turned his attention back to Q and drew out a knife.  Q stood placidly as Silva made short work of slicing into his clothes, pulling them from his body until he stood shivering in just his loincloth.  Silva seemed delighted with what he saw and ran a finger around one small, pert nipple.  “Such a shame that I have to kill you now.  Such a pretty young thing.  Mallory must have been desperate to send you against me.  If he had waited ten years, five years you could have grown up and honed your skills.  You might have actually been a threat to me.  Daddy was very bad.  He would have done better keeping you for his bedchamber…”

Q smiled and raised his hand.  Very slowly he removed his goggles and dropped them, squinting slightly in the bright sunlight.

“Actually, ‘Daddy’ was very clever.  He kept me hidden from you and your spies after one of Emisyx's raiding parties found me following your attack on the village of Yeovil.”  He clenched his fists as he lent in and hissed; “I was nineteen at the time, you evil _fuck_.” 

The mocking smile on Silva’s face vanished as Q’s hair began to ruffle as if he was standing in a wind focussed solely on him.  Silva bared his teeth in a snarl as Q raised his hands, seeming to spread and distort into the air around himself.  Bond stood opened mouth with amazement until he saw one of Silva’s men move in with a Revenant.  Remembering his mission, Bond spun around and punched his captor with such force his nose shattered, driving shards of bone deep into his brain.  He was dead and Bond had seized his sword before he hit the ground.  He leapt forward, barely noticing as Q seemed to increase in size, focusing only on keeping the undead away from his charge.

He put his back to Q and fought furiously, beheading the dead and slashing at the living.  The red mist of battle consumed him until all extraneous thoughts had fled from his mind.  He lost track of time, killing all who approached without mercy.  When no others challenged him he lowered his sword and turned to see if Q had…

The blade fell from nerveless fingers and he staggered as he took in the thirty foot long shining black dragon that towered above him.  The serpent circled Silva who lay bloody and broken on the floor.  As he watched, the monstrous beast raised itself up onto its hind legs, flapping its enormous wings and roaring.  Bond followed his sword and fell to the floor, covering his head with his hands as Silva screamed.  The dragon fixed the man before him with a stare that made the air shimmer and bend before bursting into pure light.  Silva’s screams abruptly stopped as the twin laser beams hit him and he was incinerated.  Bond sat up as the dragon seemed to flicker and reduce until Q knelt in front of him naked and shivering.

“Well,” said Q, “I think that went quite well.”

Then he passed out into a dead faint.

 

 

Bond was a strong man and he managed to carry Q a fair way before exhaustion overcame him.  He’d broken into Silva’s house before leaving and taken a robe and blankets to wrap Q in to ensure he stayed warm.  Leaving the plaza he’d spotted Q’s goggles, miraculously undamaged, and stopped to pick them up.  Some ten miles up the road he found an underpass that had collapsed on one side, forming an artificial cave that could be secured for the night.   After settling Q down the unconscious man soon began shivering.  Bond mused that transforming into an enormous dragon that shot lasers out of your eyes must take a lot out of you.  And he’d thought he was to be a weak and delicate sacrifice!  Bond chuckled to himself as he stripped off his armour and carefully unwrapped Q’s blanket.  Slipping in behind him he curled around Q’s back before placing his own blanket around them both for warmth.  Q shifted in his sleep and curled back into Bond with a small sound of contentment as he warmed up.  Keeping one hand on his sword, Bond let the sound of Q’s even breath soothe him until he too slept.

 

 

The next morning, Bond awoke alone.  He rolled over and saw that Q was sitting a few meters away watching the sun rise, wearing his tinted goggles once more.  When Q noticed him stir he slowly got to his feet and tottered back to him.

“Morning.”

The mage gingerly sat next to him and half-slumped over Bond.  Bond pushed up onto his elbows.

“Morning.  So, dragon eh?”  Q shrugged. 

“Yeah.  I was going to transform into a kitten but I thought a dragon had a bit more impact.”

Bond laughed at the memory.

“I’ll say.  A laser-sighted dragon.”

“A laser-sighted dragon.  I think it gave Silva quite a shock.”

“You not kidding.  So, the goggles?”

“All the training I’ve done over the past months has made me a little photosensitive.”

“Why not fire-breathing?”

“More difficult to conjure.  Difficult to control.  Gives me terrible indigestion.  I prefer to wear the goggles.”

Q looked exhausted so Bond twitched back the side of the blankets he lay under.  Bond settled back as Q slipped under the blankets and curled into him.  He wrapped his arms around him and pressed his lips into his hair. They laid together in companionable silence for a while until a thought occurred to Bond.

“Why did Silva panic when you mentioned Yeovil?”

Q huffed out a humourless laugh.

“He was like most people.  He assumed I was younger than I am.  A mage only really comes into his power fully in his late twenties or early thirties.  I would imagine that all his scouts said the same thing.  ‘A warrior approaches with a young man’.  When I mentioned how old I was after the destruction of Yeovil he did the math.”

“Yeovil was destroyed fourteen years ago.  Which means you’re…”

“Thirty-three.”

“Which means…”

“I’m very much at the height of my powers.  All the reports we’d had about Silva said the same thing; he was exceedingly arrogant.  My own observations confirmed it.  When he assumed I was young he didn’t bother gathering extra power into himself before we met…”

“Whereas you stripped naked and connected with the earth all night.”

Q grinned.

“There was another way I could have done it you know.”  Bond looked down to see Q’s fingers toying with the laces of his undershirt.  He swallowed hard.

“Oh?”

Q snagged the end of one of the lace and pulled it, unraveling it.  He knelt up and swung his leg over Bond straddling him much as he had the previous night.

“All I need to gain power is to accept energy from something – or someone - and I can do that in many ways.  I can connect with the earth, I can lie in the sun…”  He pulled another lace free and whispered against Bond’s lips. “…but the easiest way is to ask someone very nicely to make love to me….”

“Why didn’t we do that the last night?”

“I was going to but then you started going on about me being a delicate fucking flower…”

“I never said that!”

“No, but you thought it.”

Bond smiled.  He had to admit Q had a point.

“And what about now?”

“Now I think you know what I’m capable of… and transforming into a dragon really saps my energy... you could wait a day while I lie in the sun or commune with the soil or…”

“Or…?”

Bond surged upwards, crashing their lips together and rolling them until he lay on top of Q between his parted thighs. He ground his erection down onto Q’s and shuddered as Q wrapped his legs around him, encouraging the friction.  They rutted mindlessly while Q controlled the kiss, his fingers digging into his scalp and forcing his tongue into Bond’s mouth.  Once they’d kissed each other almost breathless, Bond grasped Q’s hair and pulled, tugging his head back so he could speak.

“How much of my energy would you like, my dragon?” He grinned.

Q bucked hips up and laughed at Bond’s gasp of arousal.  He watched as Bond reached into his robes and extracted the small phial of oil he used to treat the leather straps of his armour.

“How much have you got?”

 

 

In the end, Q was able to recoup his energy from two sources simultaneously and it was glorious.  He rode Bond slowly, facing away from him, his legs spread wide by his lover’s.  His face was raised to the sun and he burned, oh how his body burned with pleasure and power, as Bond thrust up into him.  When Bond reached around him to smooth his calloused fingers over the taught skin and sensitive head of his cock he came sobbing and shaking, as he dug his fingers into Bond’s wrists. 

 

 

The journey home took eight days.  They told Mallory it was due to Q’s weakened state and Bond got the impression that he almost believed them.  Mallory sent out messengers to spread the word; Silva was defeated.  A huge celebration was thrown and representatives from many of the local villages were invited.

And if the two guests of honour both made their apologies and retired to bed early?  Well. 

That was nobody’s business but their own.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it this far, thanks for reading!
> 
> As usual, it's un-beta'd so apologies for any cock ups. If you spot any, feel free to throw them in my face. <3
> 
> I hang out over on tumblr at iambid.tumblr.com. It's mainly me flailing about Ben Whishaw, Benedict Cumberbatch, photos of naked men and the occasional pussycat being cute but, you know, you're very welcome to come and find me.


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